


Goodbyes

by DragonflyxParodies



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Again, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bc that's the shit I live for, Bruce is trying, Gen, He knows he done fucked up, Jason is a sleepy boi, Talia Is Mom, They have a chance, but that's it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 10:54:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21135548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonflyxParodies/pseuds/DragonflyxParodies
Summary: After that fateful confrontation with his son, Bruce follows him home.





	Goodbyes

**Author's Note:**

> So here's a post-UtRH Bruce that maybe stands a chance at fixing things lol, enjoy.

For a moment, Bruce thinks he’s awake – sprawled out in an armchair, visible only in edges and the faint hint of red coloring his hands and arms and jaw. But Jason never would have let him get this close without acknowledging it, and Bruce takes the gift he’s given to just – to just _stare_.

He’s been injured. For an instant, he’s back – months ago, heart in his throat, Jason _got away –_

He’s stripped down to the pants of his uniform, the patch of gauze taped against his side just barely brushing the edge of his autopsy scar.

_He’s got an autopsy scar_, Bruce thinks faintly. There are more – scars he doesn’t recognize, smooth skin where scars he _would _recognize used to live. Burns, bullet holes, knife wounds. His head’s tilted back, relaxed against the back of his chair, and his throat, too, is –

In all his long history of mistakes made, Bruce has never turned away from their results. Self-harm, Alfred had called it.

But he finds himself stumbling away, through a kitchenette blindly, knocking a handheld gaming devie off of the counter as he zeroes in on a balcony door; he staggers out into the night and lets the door click shut behind him as he grasps the railing and heaves as if his life depends upon it.

She is settled in a wrought iron chair to his right, when he finally regains his composure.

There’d been a glass, he thinks. Resting empty on the floor beneath Jason’s limp hand.

“You drugged him.” He says. She inclines her head, briefly.

“He has only just managed to pull himself together. Seeing you would break him in ways that I could not fix.”

He wants to protest, wants to scream and roar that – _that is his _son, _his boy, he’d never-_

He swallows, a lump in his throat so large it brings tears to his eyes.

“How is he.”

“You have no right to ask that.”

“And you do?” He snaps, and –

Talia lifts her chin, eyes him so coldly it snatches his breath from his lungs.

“Does it burn you? To know he has been with me longer than he ever was with you? That when I call him _son _my claim runs deeper than yours ever did, or ever will?”

He stumbles back as if he’s been struck. And, he has.

“How could you keep him from me?” He finally rasps, and her mouth twists.

“He keeps count, you know. Of every innocent you let die in his memory. He doesn’t blame you for failing to protect him. He doesn’t need to.”

She was – she was a constant. He’d never once thought that she’d…But he hears her, doesn’t mistake what she is not saying, knows he will never hear her say his name again. Grief strikes him, another blow from an already agonizing night.

“It was an accident.”

“Letting the Joker walk?”

“Hurting him. I didn’t – I aimed for his hand.” The hand with the gun.

His confession brings him no relief. Instead it sours, curdles on his tongue and in his mind.

“Your intent has never, _will _never, matter more than your actions.”

His face is wet. He nods, if barely.

“If he knows you hunted him down, he will never forgive you.” She moves, folds her hands neatly in her lap.

“He needs to come – he needs to be home. With his family.”

“He is.”

And that –

The silence that stretches between them rings in his ears, feels like lead on his shoulders. The game system. Jason had never liked video games, all that much.

Something beeps, suddenly, and before he can do much more than force himself to focus and tense, Talia has produced a cellphone. She reads something on it, and smiles.

“I do have to thank you, for coming after him.” Her tone has him on edge, but she simply stands and presses the device against his chest, waiting only until he lifts an arm and grabs it before sliding past him and into the apartment. The door closes firmly behind her, and he knows he will not find her so accommodating again.

The phone’s screen is lit up in reds and greens. It’s a picture. The Joker’s body strung up in front of the GCPD, mutilated and held together by visible strips of sinew and flesh.

He moves so quickly he forgets he still has her phone. When he drops the device, he is already swinging across the rooftops back to the Batplane.

He still flinches when it shatters. The sound is still ringing in his ears when he reaches Gotham.


End file.
